


SWAT

by wheel_pen



Series: Agent and Doctor [6]
Category: S.W.A.T. (2003), The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summoned to the Center’s emergency room, Rachel assists with an unauthorized passenger Jeremy has brought back from a mission. She also has to deal with Jeremy still in mission mode, and with his intimidating Supervisor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SWAT

Rachel’s cell phone rang, revealing Jeremy as the caller. “Jeremy?”

“ _Hello, Dr. Ward_ ,” he replied. “ _Can_ _you come down to the emergency room right away?_ ”

“On my way,” she said, standing immediately. He hung up on her.

“Jeremy called, I’m going down to the emergency room,” she informed Jenny as she strode out.

“Okay,” the nurse acknowledged, a bit helplessly.

The emergency room was on the first floor of the medical zone, straight down from Rachel’s office. It existed because when you needed emergency medical services, getting past three security checkpoints just wasn’t practical; but at the same time, they didn’t _always_ have emergencies, so it was fairly small and quiet most of the time.

Rachel cleared all the checkpoints to get into it from inside the building—the point was that it had a prominent outside door, after all—and immediately spotted Jeremy. He was wearing a black t-shirt and camo pants, with a headset around his neck and a very large gun at his side. He turned when he saw her and she hurried over, spotting the dried blood and swelling bruises on his face.

“G-d, what have you done now?” she asked him rhetorically, starting to check his injuries. “I didn’t even realize you were back from your mission.”

He stilled her hands, pulling her tight against him as a gurney rolled by behind her. And then he didn’t let go. “I’m still on my mission,” he informed her. “My mission isn’t over until the Supervisor takes charge of the asset.”

“Okay then,” she agreed, tugging a little at his grip. He didn’t change position but started walking her backwards. “So, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she quipped awkwardly.

“I’m happy to see you, Dr. Ward,” Jeremy replied seriously, completely not getting the joke. “And this is an AK-47.”

“Yeah, I know,” she agreed shortly. “Could you put it down and sit down somewhere so I can look you over?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, which he clearly wasn’t. “I wanted you to look after _him_.”

He finally let Rachel go enough for her to turn around and look straight into the face of a man lying on a gurney. “Oh, G-d,” she remarked, slightly startled. He was dressed similarly to Jeremy, but with the addition of more blood. “Okay, can you get me a cart and a nurse, please,” she told Jeremy in a professional tone.

“What is this place? Where am I?” the man demanded in an angry tone. “Gamble! Gamble, you dirty traitor, get back here!” he shouted as Jeremy went off to do Dr. Ward’s bidding. Then he jerked away from Rachel as she tried to find his most serious injury. He couldn’t get far, though, since he was handcuffed to the gurney.

“Hey, easy there, pal, I’m a doctor,” Rachel told him. “And it looks like you could use one.”

“Let me out of here, let me go!” he snapped at her. He was thirtyish, dark hair, with an appealing Irish lilt. Though he also looked like the pugnacious sort who would punch anyone who mentioned ‘lilts’ in his presence.

“Chill, dude,” Rachel ordered him with exasperation. “Jeremy, I need—“

Jeremy reappeared behind a very nervous-looking nurse pushing a cart. “Help Dr. Ward with him,” he ordered authoritatively.

The nurse hesitated to move closer. “I’m not really supposed to—“

“Help her, or someone will be helping _you_ ,” Jeremy threatened.

“Jeremy, don’t be mean,” Rachel chided. “What’s your name?” she asked the nurse.

“Roxy.”

“Well, Roxy, come over here and help me stop this guy from bleeding to death,” Rachel suggested cheerfully. With an AK-47 at her back Roxy had little choice.

Jeremy watched them with mild interest. “He’s not going to bleed to death,” he judged.

Rachel cut his t-shirt off, revealing the field dressings packed over his injuries. “Ah, nicely done,” she complimented him. “Let’s start with a shot of thormizol for the pain,” she decided, picking up a syringe.

“You are _not_ injecting me with anything—“ the man started to protest.

“Hey!” Jeremy snapped in a tone that made them all jump. “Dr. Ward is trying to help you. So _shut up_ and let her help. Before I stick a knife through your other hand.”

Rachel was not used to Jeremy’s display of aggression and for a brief second understood why people tended to be afraid of him. Then he gave her a sort of wide-eyed look, as though reminding her he was entrusting her with an important job, which he had utter faith in her ability to perform. “Okay,” she decided. “You’re not allergic to izoline drugs, are you?” she checked and the man shook his head, eyes still burning at Jeremy. She gave him the injection. “You’ll start to feel a lot better in just a minute.”

After a few seconds she saw him start to relax. “I’ll feel a lot better… after I get out of here… and kill you, you son of a b---h!” he ground out at Jeremy. Jeremy was unperturbed by his reaction, as long as he wasn’t resisting Rachel’s attempts to help him.

“Agent,” another nurse summoned from behind a curtain, and Jeremy gave the man a final warning look before leaving them.

The mood was noticeably more comfortable after he was gone. “Your boyfriend’s a piece of s‑‑te,” the man informed Rachel bitterly.

“Yeah, he seems a little tense right now,” she had to allow. “I guess he’s still in mission mode.”

“She called him ‘agent.’ Agent of what?” the man wanted to know. “The US government? Are they behind springin’ Montel?”

“I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to tell you,” Rachel replied regretfully, applying additional anesthesia to a wound before starting to stitch it up. “That’s not Montel like… Alex Montel?” she asked after a moment.

“I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to tell you,” he sneered in return, and she rolled her eyes. She’d seen something on TV about the infamous international drug lord being broken out of federal custody in Mexico earlier that day. And her parents wondered why she didn’t watch the news.

“Well, can you tell me your name, at least?” Rachel persuaded.

“Street.”

She blinked at him. “Uh, yeah, we can go with your street name if you like,” she agreed. “What do they call you in the hood, Lucky Charm?” A nervous giggle burbled out of Roxy.

He stared at her. “Jim Street, and are you makin’ Irish jokes?”

“Oh,” Rachel responded with surprise, then smirked at herself. “Sorry. Your last name’s Street. Man, that was totally a Jeremy moment.”

“Why do you call him ‘Jeremy’?” Street wanted to know. “Oh, he’s probably using an alias, right? To infiltrate the Guard.”

“You’re with the Mexican Federal Guard?” Rachel concluded.

“Are you about to make another Irish joke?”

She grinned. “No. Didn’t even occur to me.”

“There’s lots of internationals in the Guard,” he sighed, leaning back more as she worked. “Lots of Europeans, Americans. He fit right in.”

“Yeah, that’s what he does,” Rachel noted, moving on to another wound.

The man was quiet for a few minutes. “What was your name again?” he finally asked.

“Dr. Ward.”

“Look, Dr. Ward,” he began in a low voice, and she had a feeling she knew what was coming. “I’ve got to get out of here. Bustin’ Montel, that wasn’t exactly a stealth job,” he pointed out. “People, my team in the Guards, they saw me on that plane, they saw which direction it was headed in. It won’t take them long to figure out where I am.”

Rachel felt this was a little overly optimistic. “Jim. Street? What should I call you?”

“I’m not really in a position to care,” he pointed out.

She granted that. “Okay. Look, Lucky Charm, I’m not need-to-know about the details of missions,” she admitted, and he growled in frustration. “ _But_ , as a doctor, I would not let you go even if I could, because you wouldn’t get twenty steps out that door before you collapsed.” He was clearly not in agreement on this. “So resign yourself to waiting.”

Rachel moved around to look at the hand that was cuffed to the gurney. The bandage wrapped around it was thick and he hissed when she tried to remove it from under the restraints. “Roxy, go ask Jeremy for the key to the handcuffs, please,” she requested. There was no acknowledgement and she looked up to see the nurse giving her a look of consternation. “Would you rather stay here with Lucky Charm, while _I_ talk to Jeremy?” Roxy nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s Street!” the man corrected her peevishly.

“Sorry, it’s stuck in my head now,” Rachel told him blithely, aiming for the curtained areas off to the side of the room. “Jeremy?” He appeared suddenly around one curtain, still toting the gun, which seemed to grow larger every time she saw it.

“Yes, Dr. Ward?”

“I need—are you chewing gum?” she asked distractedly. She didn’t ever remember him doing that before.

“Oh, sorry.” He spat the gum sideways, fortuitously at a garbage can. “Part of my alias.”

“Along with the pirate earrings?” she commented dryly. He had a gold hoop in each ear—smaller and thicker than a woman might wear, perhaps, but still slightly ridiculous on him.

“I’ll take them out when the mission’s over,” he promised. “The holes will heal up right away.”

Rachel supposed she should not be overly concerned with the relatively minor cosmetic changes he’d made to assume his alias. It was just odd to see him looking, and more importantly acting, differently than she was used to—odd and disconcerting. The gun didn’t help matters, even if he carefully pointed it at the floor away from her. Glancing at it she finally noticed the large tattoo on his forearm. “What is _that_?”

He held his arm out for her to see. It read ‘Gamble’ in big, ornate font. “It’s my alias,” he explained, which went with what Street had called him. “And also a thinly-veiled life philosophy.”

“Well, not every character can be subtle, I guess,” Rachel deadpanned.

“It’s not permanent, it will come off with an appropriate solvent,” Jeremy assured her.

Rachel shook her head, remembering why she’d come over in the first place. “I need the key to Lucky—er, Street’s handcuffs.” Jeremy raised an eyebrow and she could see where that might seem an odd request. “The hand you cuffed is injured and I can’t get at it. I thought I’d switch the hands, is all.” Jeremy’s ‘resting face,’ if that’s what it was, had a certain intimidating factor about it as he watched her.

“I’ll do it,” he decided, striding over to the gurney.

“Okay then,” Rachel agreed to his back.

Street tensed angrily when he saw Jeremy, but the agent didn’t really care; he just slung the machine gun over his shoulder, grabbed Street’s free hand, and cuffed it roughly to the other side of the gurney, over the other man’s objections. Then he clamped down on the injured hand to hold it steady.

“Hey!” Rachel snapped at him while Street hissed curses. “Back off. Give me the key.” Jeremy did so obediently, though clearly he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.

Rachel unlocked the handcuffs, and Jeremy snatched them and the key away as soon as she was done. She started to unwrap the bandage but could see Street was not going to calm down until Jeremy was out of sight. “Could you go wait over there, please,” she told him, indicating somewhere beyond Street’s eyeline. He shrugged and left.

“He’s a real charmer, your boyfriend,” Street sneered.

“You can stop calling him my boyfriend whenever you want,” Rachel advised him. She uncovered the wound on his hand and winced. “D—n, that looks nasty.”

“Your boy—Gamble, or whatever the h—l his name is,” Street replied. “Pinned me to a train car with a knife. A _moving_ train car. Like I was a f-----g bug in a collection.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was guessing,” Rachel decided, ignoring the color commentary.

“You should’ve stayed there,” Jeremy opined.

Street squirmed around, trying to see him. “Hey, f—k off, _pal_ ,” he snapped.

“Both of you shut it,” Rachel ordered. She wrapped a bandage lightly around his hand and rested it on his chest. “Roxy, help me push the gurney,” she instructed. “We’re going to take you up to X-ray—“

Menacingly Jeremy stepped forward and blocked their path. “C----t,” Street muttered. “Don’t you ever get tired of playing the heavy?”

“You can’t take him to X-ray,” Jeremy stated flatly to Rachel, ignoring Street.

“Well, he needs x-rays, so yeah, that’s what I’m doing,” Rachel countered testily.

Jeremy gave her a look that suggested she was being a little foolish, then jerked his head to signal they should talk off to the side. She was not overly fond of that gesture, at least in situations where you could just _say_ , ‘Let’s talk off to the side,’ and she felt her hackles rising even more. They moved several feet away from the gurney, and then Rachel kept backing up further because Jeremy and his gun were invading her personal space. Her back hit the wall and he continued to approach until they were nearly touching.

“So this alias of yours,” she began.

“Brian Gamble.”

“He’s _kind_ of a jacka-s, huh?” she judged without amusement.

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed readily. “Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.” He seemed sincere with this comment, at least.

“Well listen, jacka-s Gamble, I need to get x-rays of this guy’s hand, which you so thoughtfully shoved a knife through,” Rachel laid out for him.

“You can still call me Jeremy,” he assured her, totally missing her point. “It’s not an alternate personality.”

“Good to know.” Jeremy didn’t need his brain scrambled any more than it already was. “Address my medical concern.”

“I can’t let you leave the room with Street,” he finally explained. “Even injured he could be a threat, and I have to keep an eye on both him and the asset until the Supervisor comes.”

One of the curtains parted briefly, revealing a man in a navy blue jumpsuit sitting on the edge of an exam table being attended to by multiple nurses. He was younger and more handsome than his mugshots led one to believe, and he was clearly in a very good mood. “My asset,” Jeremy noted with mild distaste.

“Holy s—t, that’s really Alex Montel,” Rachel squeaked, with the certain ridiculous flutter that often accompanied seeing a famous person in real life.

He heard his name and responded with a grin that was equal parts charm and sleaze. “The one and only, cherie,” he told her.

“Shut the f—k up,” Jeremy ordered him harshly. “Sorry,” he added when he saw Rachel’s expression. “I promise, when the Supervisor comes to retrieve the asset, I’ll go with you to X-ray.”

“You’re starting to impede my ability to help a patient,” Rachel warned him. “You know I don’t like that.”

“I know,” Jeremy assured her. “That’s why I asked you to look after him.”

“Fine. I feel like I’m living in the Matrix,” Rachel muttered, pushing Jeremy back so she could get around him. “Okay, so, slight delay on the x-ray until Neo chooses which pill to take,” she announced to Street. “Let’s take him over there and get his pants off,” she added to Roxy.

“This is not how I thought my day was going to end,” he sighed.

“With two pretty girls taking off your pants?” Rachel joked. “You need to dream bigger, Lucky Charm.”

“Well, they weren’t gonna do it somewhere so _cold_ ,” Street said pointedly, and Rachel took the hint and draped a sheet over the rest of him. She and Roxy managed to get his pants and footwear off, revealing several new bruises but no serious injuries, except for a swollen knee. Rachel probed at it gently.

“We’ll add this to the x-ray list,” she decided. “You might be limping for a while.”

“You’re so full of good news, Dr. Ward,” he sighed with resignation. “Hey, can I get something to eat, or is it part of the plan to starve me as well?”

“You can probably have something to eat,” Rachel allowed. “Roxy, would you go to the—“ The girl was gone, hopefully to the cafeteria, before Rachel could even finish speaking. “May not be suited for emergency room work,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

“It’s so hard to find good help these days,” Street cracked, with a solid helping of bitterness as he stared through a gap in the curtains at Jeremy standing guard.

Rachel wasn’t sure if it would do much good to ask; or if she really even wanted to know the answers. But curiosity had always been a flaw of hers. “So you’re in the Mexican Federal Guard,” she began, finding something else to stitch up on him, “and Jeremy joined you as a new member recently.”

“About a month ago,” Street confirmed. “He had top scores on all the tests, impressed the s—te out of our commander with his field skills.” Rachel was not surprised about _that_ part.

“And he was put on Montel’s detail just like that?” she questioned. “The new guy?”

Street shrugged a little. “The frog hadn’t made his big half a billion dollar offer yet,” he explained, referring to Montel’s infamous public pledge of cold hard cash to anyone who sprang him from custody. “He was just cooling his heels in a local jail on a traffic violation. No one had any reason to be suspicious of someone new.” There was a long pause. “No one had any reason to be suspicious of _him_. Aside from bein’ kind of a reckless b-----d.”

Rachel smirked a little at his tone. “Sounds like the two of you got along.”

“He did some good work,” Street admitted grudgingly. He was now starting to realize, it seemed, that this wasn’t so much a case of a friend betraying his partners, presumably for money, as it was of someone who had never truly been a friend in the first place, and was acting as part of a much larger, less personally motivated operation. It still hurt, Rachel could see—Street was the type who took any kind of disloyalty hard. But it was a different kind of frustration and pain.

“He’s a good guy,” Rachel offered, not knowing if it would really help. “He’s sweet, actually. He’s doing his duty for his country.” She understood that motivation well enough. “Though what our country wants with a sleazy French drug lord, I have no idea,” she admitted dryly. “Here.” Finished with her work—at least what she could do at the moment—Rachel draped a blanket over him. “How’s that painkiller holding up?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. How about something to drink, then?”

“Doable,” Rachel agreed, fetching a cup of water and a straw. “Sending Roxy away might not have been a smart idea, she may have rabbited,” she admitted as she gave him a drink.

“Don’t think I really could’ve enjoyed the mystery meat anyway,” he sighed.

“Well, feel free to fall asleep, if possible,” Rachel encouraged. His look suggested he found this unlikely to occur.

Suddenly there was a change in the air around them, an odd mix of tension and relief, and Rachel peeked out from behind the curtain to see a well-dressed black woman approaching, flanked by two beefy guys in suits. She walked with the attitude of someone who rarely, if ever, encountered obstacles—but knew exactly how to handle them if she did. Rachel was not comforted by this.

“What’s goin’ on?” Street wanted to know.

“I’m actually not sure,” Rachel replied.

“Agent Green,” the woman said to Jeremy.

“Supervisor Wollstonecraft,” he replied. Ah, so that’s who everyone was waiting for. “Challenge: Redbird.”

“Response: Pershing,” Wollstonecraft answered without missing a beat. “Where’s the asset?”

Jeremy pulled back a curtain to reveal the smarmy Frenchman, who was groping one of the nurses. “Finally!” he proclaimed. “Are you the one in charge around here? I have a few complaints to lodge, particularly about the wardrobe choices.”

Wollstonecraft was unimpressed. “Sedate him,” she ordered. Jeremy immediately elbowed the man in the face, knocking him out cold. “I was talking to the nurses,” the Supervisor pointed out flatly.

“Oh.”

“I have received the asset,” she went on formally, “and you may stand down, Agent Green.”

A curious change came over Jeremy when she said those words—he didn’t exactly relax, but his posture, the way he held himself changed, becoming more recognizably Jeremy, as he might appear in Rachel’s exam room. Dutifully he handed over his gun to one of the Supervisor’s assistants, who swung it over his shoulder with ease.

Then Wollstonecraft turned her eyes in Rachel’s direction, pushing aside the curtain to glance between her and Street with an expression Rachel was not ashamed to say made her nervous. It also made her hold herself a little taller, as if preparing for a (hopefully metaphorical) fight. “Green, why did you bring an unauthorized passenger?” the Supervisor asked coldly.

“He jumped onto the plane as it was taking off,” Jeremy reported.

“You should have pushed him out,” she judged. Street might have been some kind of disgusting insect her child had brought home, the way she was looking at him.

“That would’ve killed him,” Jeremy pointed out helpfully. Wollstonecraft raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m supposed to avoid killing innocent people, if at all possible,” he added. He did not seem perturbed by her murderous suggestion.

“He’s not innocent. He’s opposition,” the Supervisor corrected.

Eyes pinged over to Jeremy as everyone else held very still. “He’s local law enforcement,” he countered, a tinge of stubbornness creeping into his tone. “It’s their duty to stop people who appear to be breaking the law.”

Wollstonecraft faced him fully with a look that would have quailed a normal person; indeed, the nurses behind Jeremy who caught it peripherally blanched. Jeremy merely cocked his head to the side curiously, waiting for her response. “Your unauthorized passenger has compromised your mission and this entire facility,” she noted. Then she gave a nod to her two assistants, who stepped forward.

Jeremy shot Rachel a look, which she took as her cue. “Whoa, hey!” she snapped at the two men, interposing herself between them and Street. “What are you gonna do with him?”

Now Wollstonecraft’s spotlight wheeled around to face Rachel. “Dr. Ward,” she said, and the temperature of the room seemed to sink by five degrees. “You’re not supposed to be here. Return to your office. Agent Green will report to you after his initial debriefing.”

“Um, no,” Rachel replied, trying to keep a clear head despite the aura of implacable authority the woman projected. “I’m gonna take this guy to X-ray and make sure he’s alright.”

“I don’t think ‘alright’ is how she wants me,” Street pointed out with suppressed alarm.

“Dr. Ward, do you know who I am?” the Supervisor asked flatly.

“No, I don’t, actually,” Rachel told her. “But I _do_ know that no one is going to stop me from looking after a patient, so get your creepy goons away from him,” she added as the assistants scooted closer, “and… stop giving me that Eye of Sauron look.”

This at least caused the Supervisor to take a long, slow breath, as though she were willing herself to have patience with this lesser creature. “Dr. Ward,” she finally said, “there’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

“Except _me_ , right?” Street noted darkly.

He was ignored. “Step aside and let me deal with the unauthorized passenger,” she ordered.

“Or what?” Rachel asked, not in a challenging tone but one of genuine curiosity. “You’re gonna write me up?” There was a subtle change in the assistants’ focus. “What, you’re seriously gonna shoot me? Come on.” This was a government workplace, after all, not a dirty warehouse full of drug dealers (okay, one drug dealer).

Street was better at reading the body language of potential violence than Rachel was. “I think they seriously are,” he opined, touching her arm with his free hand. “Dr. Ward, maybe you should—“

Jeremy slid in front of Rachel, staring down one and then the other assistant with a feral posture and a growl. For the first time, they looked mildly nervous and glanced back at Wollstonecraft.

“Agent Green, I told you to stand down,” she reminded him, with a slight bit of heat.

“I don’t remember that,” Jeremy claimed, and suddenly she looked a little apprehensive, too. It was an incongruous expression on her face.

Her cell phone beeped and she backed up a step, pulling it out to check the text message. She did not like what it said, at least judging by the slight tensing of her jaw. Rachel wasn’t sure if that was good for them or not. Then Wollstonecraft jerked her head at her two assistants, who backed away from Rachel and rejoined her.

They all waited silently, until things started to become awkward. The dinging of the elevator made Rachel jump and she turned to check on Street. He gave her a questioning look and she had to shake her head uncertainly in return.

It was Director Quarles who stepped off the elevator, and Rachel wasn’t sure if she should be glad to see him or not. “Ah, I see you retrieved the asset successfully,” he noted in an overly cheerful, patronizing way. “Well done, Jeremy.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy responded politely, while still wearing a deadly expression.

“Wollstonecraft, why don’t you take Montel away and deal with him,” Quarles went on, in a way that was not a suggestion.

She was not happy, Rachel could see, but Quarles was her boss. Thank goodness _someone_ was. Rachel half-expected her to sneer something like, ‘I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!’ as she turned away.

“And Dr. Ward, where were you going?” Quarles asked.

Of course he knew. “I was taking my patient to X-ray,” she informed him, in case he thought she was going to change her mind, after all that.

“Yes, fine, of course,” he allowed, as if it were no big deal.

“And what’s going to happen to me after that?” Street asked, not unreasonably.

“Well now, that’s a bit of a problem,” Quarles acknowledged lightly. “Jeremy, you _do_ have a rather stringent interpretation of the ‘no harm’ clause—“

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed unapologetically.

“Well, we’ll come up with something,” Quarles decided. It was not a particularly reassuring statement. “Uh, Dr. Ward?” He indicated she should move along with her patient.

“Alright then,” Rachel sighed, tugging on the gurney. At least Street wasn’t going to be shot right then, in front of her. And possibly _through_ her. She predicted she’d be sleeping in his hospital room tonight, though.

Jeremy started to follow, taking over the gurney-pushing. “Green,” Quarles snapped, his schmoozey persona giving way momentarily.

“He hasn’t been debriefed,” Wollstonecraft pointed out. She made the experience sound more than a little sinister.

“I promised Dr. Ward I would go with her to X-ray,” Jeremy explained.

Quarles gave Rachel a long-suffering look. As though _he_ were one who’d been suffering the last few minutes. “Um, whatever you think is best, Jeremy,” she told him, not sure which way she ought to go on this. “I’m sure we’ll be alright.”

He straightened up. “Okay. I’ll come see you later.” He didn’t seem particularly distressed, so she hoped she’d given the right answer.

“Nice little office job you’ve got,” Street remarked as she pulled him towards the elevator.

“There are days,” Rachel muttered. The elevator doors opened to reveal Roxy with a tray of food. “Of all the—did you go for takeout or something? Come on, we’re going up to X-ray.”


End file.
